Page 71 of Quinlan

My hand is on her throat. Rome’s on her jaw. Damien tugs on her hair.

Quinlan’s there, standing proud despite being trapped. Wet beads prickle at the corners of her eyes. Blood rushes in her veins. Cheeks on fire.

And her gaze is furious. Like we’re the ones at a disadvantage here.

“Interesting.”

Gray eyes slice to mine. Last night, she was peaceful. Her eyelashes rested on her cheeks while we took advantage of her. There’s nothing peaceful about her anymore.

“What’s interesting?” Her voice is a furious hiss.

“You.” I’ll feel her better if I tighten my grip. So I do.

She gasps, the sound triggering a growl from Rome and a smirk from Damien.

Teasing from me. “Pretending you don’t want this. It’s interesting, since your body says otherwise.”

“You know each other.” An accusation. She’s accusingme.

Rome’s the one who kissed her, who got closer to her. And she points a finger at me.

That could only mean one thing. Quinlan has trusted me the most.

My cock jerks in my pants as if she’d just grazed it.

“We do.” I’m burning. Going up in flames in the best possible way. She’s doing this to me, turning the panic into need. Into hope. It’s too soon to let her have that power over me. “Tell me, Rome. Didn’t we just say talking time is over?”

“You were the one who said I was interesting.”

“We did.” On cue, Rome digs his fingers to her cheek.

That added pressure on her cheeks from Rome silences Quinlan. Her flawless skin blanches around his fingertips. A contrast against the red slashes on his knuckles.

“Stop it.”

“Still whispering,” Damien muses.

His lips haven’t moved from her cheek, and he yanks her head to him by her hair. Rome and I loosen our grips on her in tandem. Damien groans as he presses his mouth to her, forces her to stay while he sucks on her skin. On the tattooed heart.

She makes a voice at the back of her throat. I feel it. I feel her little moan that follows.

He releases her by some, his lips brushing her wet skin. “You need us to stay.”

“No.” Her resilience. It’s beautiful. “I don’t need you. Any of you.”

“Is that so?” Rome’s had enough. He pushes her harder up against the wall, and Damien and I move with them.

“Yes.”

“I don’t remember you fighting me yesterday.” Rome edges closer to Quinlan. Their noses brush. His lips caress hers. “You moaned into my mouth, sweetheart. Your tank top did a poor job of hiding the little peaks of your nipples.”

Hernipples. I groan at the memory from last night. They’re branded into my memory. Soft and hard. Pink and responsive. I loathe her dress and leather jacket. Loathe them. They’re an obstacle. A wall that needs to be torn down.

“They weren’t—I wasn’t—” She’s frustrated. Adorable. “You tricked me.”

I release her throat to go for the offending jacket. Yank it off one of her shoulders.

“What’s wrong with tricking you?” Damien pushes down the other.

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